The Minister's Cohort
by Albinon
Summary: Years have passed. Things went wrong. Meet Leonard. Ex-Hufflepuff. He fixes things.
1. No Chairs

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R. owns Harry Potter, I don't. Hope you'll enjoy the reading.

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Now this was one ugly room, Leonard thought while walking in his new office. The area that he had to acknowledge as his new working space was totally empty, with the exception of an old wooden desk and a bin. And that was it. No chair. No windows. No clock. No nothing. The walls were bleak, the light rancid, and the smell foul. Almost putrid. He sighed. Hogwarts would be pieced together again by the time he'd manage to make this place clean. A simple spell would be enough, but irony had to prevail: they were simply not allowed here. Welcome to the new Ministry of Magic, where magic's banned and hygiene doesn't matter. Admirable safeguarding measure. Stunning strategy.

He slowly walked to his desk, opened his suitcase, and started to unpack his things. A plain grey notebook. A couple of disorganized folders. Today's Daily Prophet. Several packs of Chocolate Frogs, Leonard's essential weakness. And, last but not least, hidden behind a narrow secret compartment, his wand. Another safety measure. Wands were now to be "concealed". Not just tucked in your sleeve, but _concealed_. Wands were dangerous. They could harm. They could leave a signature, be detected. Wand bearers were strongly advised not to use them. He groaned, as he was unpacking a Frog and stuffing it in his mouth. What a great way to survive. Going full Muggle.

He looked at the collectible card he had drawn. Wonderful, Potter again. He ripped it up and threw the pieces in the bin. These folders were all he had been able to take during the Ministry's last _move-out_. Hopefully, the rest would arrive later. Hopefully. He glanced at his watch. Six in the morning, plus three minutes. In twenty-seven minutes, he'd have to be downstairs for his meeting with the Minister. Meaning that he had maybe fifteen minutes to find a chair for his office. Some people hunted dark wizards, some other chased dragons or relics. Leonard's game was furniture. Fair enough.

Only ten minutes were needed to find a chair. A standard, plastic, slightly dirty chair. Lying alone and abandoned in someone else's office. Finders keepers, he muttered as he strode down the empty corridors, back to his office. He now had time. He could remove his second-hand trench coat. Sit. Try to arrange himself in a kind of reassuring attitude for the upcoming conversation. Adopt this Hufflepuff demeanor he had finally managed to grasp maybe six months before graduating. Which was quite a long time ago, come to think of it.

At twenty-nine past six, Leonard was ready to knock at the Minister's door. One last check to see if he looked good. He did not. Been a while since he last shaved. Not that he was able to sport a beautiful lumberjack beard; his facial hair made him look like some kind of rodent. His receding hairline was now too obvious to be _concealed_. He'd have to think about a new haircut. Id est: go to the nearest barber and wait for his hair to be mowed down. He quickly sniffed. He'd also need a new perfume. He smelled like a spilled jar of Flobberworm mucus.

He knocked and waited for a few seconds before entering Minister Granger's office. Which was hollow and horrid as well.

Hermione Granger was forty-one, and looked like she was fifty. Right now, she was sitting at her desk, busy writing something, and exhausted. Probably hadn't slept for weeks, months maybe. Still fighting, but crumbling. At least she was still fighting. She took a brief look at him and went back to her composition. He decided that he was not concerned by this. Being involved in as less things as possible perfectly suited the man.

"Tea, Madam?"

She did not answer. That meant yes. Please. Earl Grey. No sugar. Just a hint of milk. Thank you. He waited silently as the kettle whistled louder and louder, for a couple of very long minutes, as the Minister's writing rhythm got quicker and quicker. She probably was getting close to an end.

"Sorry Madam, milk shortage", he said, bringing her a cup. She put her quill down, took a sip, winced. Burning hot, she hadn't checked. Taking this as a hint that she was preoccupied with something was way too easy: of course she bloody was. The recent events did absolutely nothing to prove that statement wrong.

"How do you like the place?" she asked. Merlin, she had massive bags under her eyes.

"Honest answer?"

"Honest answer."

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. There was this thing with Leonard: his honesty had a tendency to be devoid of any subtlety. Especially in those times. But, after all, maybe that was what she asked of him. To be blunt. Straightforward to the point of sometimes being very explicit. He could say to her that the place was a complete disaster. The worst place she could ever have picked. Had to reach, unsafe, impractical, ugly, no hygiene, no chairs, no milk.

He chose another path. The place was not the main problem here, after all.

"Those empty corridors are not likely to be overfilled with activity, Madam", he said, quietly.

That was the problem. Not the place, no matter how dreadful it was. The main issue here was the people. The Ministry's employees. They were simply too afraid to get out of their houses and work. They were paralysed by the fear of leaving their families behind, to abandon their own. Or maybe they were too busy taking care of their own individual lives, to try get the best out of this for them and them only. After all, everyone did the same, so why bother? The Ministry was nothing more than a liability here. Nothing more than a burden on the mourning people of wizardry.

A sad smile crossed Granger's face as Leonard 's dreary discourse expanded and expanded. She knew. Of course she knew. People did not come to work because they thought that the battle was already lost before it had even begun. Because they thought that resistance was futile. Because they thought that there were nothing to be done. They already crumbled. They were done. Broken.

Just like Hogwarts.

Two years had passed since the attack and they were still trying to figure out how this could have happened. How such an impossible thing was achieved. Two years later, Hogwarts was down and still burning. Many other places, including the former Ministry's building, shared a similar fate and were now nothing more than wrecks. Ruins. And there were nothing they could do about this.

For now.

Minister Granger had a job for Leonard. A request, plain and simple.

"I want you to help me rebuild the Auror Office."

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**A/N:** Done for today. Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter when it's done. Reviews are most welcomed. I'll see you soon. :)


	2. Number One

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R. owns Harry Potter, I don't. Hope you'll enjoy the reading.

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People were partying upstairs. Second floor, just above his own flat. They would get drunk at one or two in the morning, as they used to. He still had time. A couple of hours of quietness. Right now, they were talking and laughing too loud. Nothing harmful.

Leonard yawned and stretched on his faux leather couch. He was back home. Spent the whole day working in this dreadful office, thinking about this bloody assignment Minister Granger had given him. He was absolutely not up to it. He wasn't up _for_ it either. Too complicated. Way too troublesome. Besides, he had absolutely nothing, _nothing_ to do with the Aurors. He had never even considered joining them. He was simply not qualified for this task.

And yet, he had this paper, lying on a coffee table just in front of him. A list. People he thought would be able to play a part in the not-so-shiny brand new Auror Unit. And he knew he was going to spend the whole night trying to fill this list with names. He couldn't say no to the Minister. The things he did for loyalty...

He only had one condition. Free rein. Carte blanche. He picked the names he wanted. One's history was history. They'd have to ignore a couple of things in order to refill the Office's ranks. Granger deplored Leonard's statement, but, in the end, gave him her agreement. The good guys had died first, they'd have to do without.

Upstairs, someone spilled his drink and laughed. The music seemed to go louder and louder. Lenny wondered if those merrymakers were Muggles or wizards. Maybe both. That wouldn't be so surprising. The difference was not that much obvious now, anyway.

He got up and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge; nothing to eat. He'd fix himself another cup of coffee instead. He wouldn't sleep tonight, he knew it, even before the party had started. Silence might have helped him staying focused, but he was not going to climb the stairs and ask them to stop now. First, because they were a crowd and he was alone; second, because right now he was wearing nothing but underpants and he had better to do than to dress up for them. He would endure the noise, he thought while going back to his couch, holding his filled up cup.

He had an obvious number one on his list. Part of the reason why the Hogwarts events had been such an overwhelming disaster had been that they cruelly lacked people like him. He was not going to let that mistake happen again. For the rest, he'd have to proceed by elimination. Put the names of the dead and missing ones aside. And _that_ list was way too long. He drank slowly, as someone upstairs, maybe the same one who had spilled his drink, demonstrated how thin was the line between belching and vomiting.

Five in the morning. Party was over. He had a list, and he was going to take a shower. And shave.

It was raining outside.

He let the water flow for a couple of minutes. He needed heat. He needed to relax.

Less than half an hour later, he was at the Ministry.

The corridors were still empty. He could hear the echo of his own steps, and he did not like that. He never did. It felt like he was in some kind of ghost ship, and this was deeply unsettling. He started to walk faster. He was not going to be there for long. Actually, he was even going to skip his own office. Straight to Minister Granger's instead.

He knocked at her door and entered without waiting. There was a clock on the wall, now. He walked to her desk and showed her the list. And observed her reaction. Of course she was not going to like it. The profiles he was suggesting were morally ambiguous _at best_. But those inconvenient individuals were all they had for now.

"I can bring you those ten names standing in this office within two weeks", he said. "If I can, I'll leave this afternoon. Straight to Number One, he might be a hard one to catch."

"How come?"

"The man got paranoid. Dead afraid to face some old acquaintances. The Hogwarts events did nothing to appease him, especially with the danger his kid had to face. For this reason I'm going to need-"

Granger had stopped listening. And he quickly understood why. He had talked about kids. Children. Malfoy had got lucky. Granger's situation was different. He silently cursed himself, and immediately tried to arrange himself in a slightly more restrained mindset. He did not reopen the conversation right away.

"I'm deeply sorry, Madam", he said after a few seconds. "My... eagerness to get work done made me forget the most common sense of-"

"It's all right, Leonard", she answered, raising a -pale- hand to make him stop. "It's all right. It's just that... I was thinking. It's Rosie's birthday soon. I haven't had the time to buy her a gift yet."

He smiled tentatively. He did not like this kind of conversation. Felt like he was treading on a very, very slippery ground.

"What are you going to get her?" he asked softly, to his own surprise. Guess he was acting out of genuine concern rather than curiosity.

"I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet."

"Books, novels, maybe? I've read one last month, a very good one, she might like it-"

"Maybe she has already read it", she said with a melancholic smile on her face. "She's a very clever girl. She reads ten times more than I did when I was her age. I might get her a book, but I don't want to pick the wrong one, you see?"

He smiled. Fair enough. He had lied anyway. He hadn't read a book for ages. No time. He realised that he just wanted to keep the conversation going for a moment. At this precise moment the clock on the wall started to ring. Very discreetly. Yet, its sound was audible enough to call them back to work. He looked at the timepiece and then became aware that it was only six in the morning. Oh Merlin, he was early.

"I'll need a special authorisation", he told her. "Wand-carrying authorisation. Just in case things get messy. I'm not planning to use it, but, just in case."

She looked at him for a second, then pulled a signed and valid authorisation out of a drawer. She had anticipated this. She wasn't Minister Granger for nothing. Would have taken way too much time if she hadn't been at least one step ahead of him. Now, he could move without real hindrance. Dealing with the rest, from now own, would be his own responsibility.

"Every time I catch one, I'll try to come and report here", he added. "I'm not guaranteeing I'll be able to do it every single time, but I'll try. In two weeks maximum I'll have them all. Have a good day, Madam."

He took the papers and left. He had a job to do. Right now, that job was to find and bring Number One. Draco Malfoy, Healer.

Oh wait. He had a better idea. He'd go for the wife instead. Greengrass. It might help him.

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**A/N:** Done for today. Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter when it's done. Don't hesitate to post reviews and to tell me if I did mistakes I did not plan to do. I'll see you soon. :)


	3. Italian Job

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R. owns Harry Potter, I don't. Hope you'll enjoy the reading.

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"Hello Draco, Lenny here, erm, Leonard from the Ministry. Been a while since I last tried to contact you, sorry 'bout that, but, hey, I know we've both been quite busy, and, er, well, here I am, right? I know you just came back to England, so I just wanted to leave a message, have some news from you, that kind of things. Oh yeah right, by the way, I talked to Astoria and Scorpius this morning. They look fine, I mean, they look fine enough. They miss you though. They miss you a lot. So I figured out, we should meet. In a restaurant or something. Trade a few stories, banter a bit, things like that. There's this very nice place I know, it's an Italian, near the Strand Palace Hotel. I'm sure you'll like it. It's called the [….]. Try to be there before Midday, it's quite a crowded place. See you there, brother!"

Draco hung up. His wife and son were in danger. He didn't know any man called Leonard. And that man had them. That's what he implied when he told him they missed him _a lot_. Malfoy had quickly understood the message. He checked his watch. Half past eleven. He still had time left. But not enough to think about a plan. They look fine enough, the voice mail said. Fine enough. They'd get hurt if he wasn't there fast enough. He took his wand before leaving. And a couple of potions, small vials. The perks of being a Healer; he could carry that kind of things without too much trouble, even though using them here in London would be bloody dangerous. Also, he had a car.

He drove, and he drove fast. He knew where that restaurant was. He'd be there in a matter of minutes. He didn't pay much attention to the sharp-dressed man who attentively watched the black coupé leaving the garage. Emergency situation. No time for that kind of details.

His mistake.

Leonard had ordered some Ricotta Gnocchi for two. And Merlin, that smelled delicious. If he hadn't been there for professional reasons, he'd have gulped it down in a matter of seconds. But hey, serious business. Plus, something was wrong. There were those clients, a couple of them. Pretending to be casual, sitting in their favourite funeral costume. They looked like Weasel-trained puppets, and he did not like that. Not one bit.

He looked at the time. There was a small wooden clock above the entrance. Quarter to twelve. Early lunch. He ate a couple of gnocchi. Would be a waste if they got cold. He needed to think about a way to get out of here. Those guys from the Weasel squad were certainly here for Malfoy. Apparently he hadn't paid enough for his crimes.

At this precise moment, Malfoy showed up. Leonard beamed.

"Oh my!" he said, rising from his chair. "Dressed to kill, as always! C'mon, gimme a hug now!"

Draco did not plan to. He looked composed, taciturn at worst. His gaze, however, was murderous. Deadly. But Leonard did not really ask for the Healer's opinion. He had a message to convey.

"You're in trouble, Slytherin Boy", he whispered as they briefly hugged. "Sit. We have to talk."

And Slytherin Boy sat. For a couple of seconds, Lenny tried to entice him into some mundane chit-chat, but Malfoy had no wish to cooperate. The ex-Hufflepuff sighed.

"All right", he said, back to a more professional tone. "First things first. Your wife and kid are safe, they are at the Ministry of Magic. Second, they're locked down there because they believe you died on the field of duty."

He waited for a reaction of shock, or anger, but nothing came. Malfoy stayed emotionless, and his eyes, unmoving. Good. He could keep on with this. The truth was that Astoria didn't believe a word of the lies she had been told. Nevertheless, she had obeyed, and her son hadn't been a problem. True patriots, he thought, hiding a smirk. He resumed his monologue.

"Third. Minister _Granger_ has a request for you. And yes, this is important enough to justify the fact that I had to talk the Greengrass girl into believing you were a corpse, and then lock her away. Junior's with her, don't worry about that. And yes, there are rewards. One of them is that your record gets cleared. Cleared, cleaned, spotless, neat. And I know you want this to happen. You _desperately_ want this to happen. To put an end to this. You haven't been able to remove this ugly tattoo. No one's ever been. Right?"

He allowed himself to smile. He knew he would have him. The Dark Mark was an easy joker in his deck. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't fail. He'd be able to report in Granger's office by the end of the afternoon, and then he'd go straight for Number Two. A good day's work.

"Is this some kind of... joke?" Draco asked. Lethal stare, once again. He was trying to analyse the copious amount of information that had just been given to him. He needed time for that. He was not going to be given that time.

"No, this is not. Besides, I've been babbling for hours, but it's not like you really had a choice. I mean, the second you do something wrong, the wife ends up at St Mungo's and the kid in a morgue."

"You wouldn't!"

"Ever seen a Hufflepuff lie, Malfoy?" Leonard said quietly. No answer. He smiled again. "I'll tell you about that job later. But right now we've got a little crisis to deal with. Draco, do you have a car?"

"Why?"

"Looks like some people have already heard about your return to the motherland. And at least four of them are sitting in this restaurant right now", he said, glancing at the Weasel squad gentlemen who were blatantly staring at them, looking like they were ready to draw their six-shooters and turn the place into a B movie saloon.

"I have a car", Malfoy said.

"Is it nearby ?"

"Yes."

"Good. We're going to take the car. I'll tell you about your assignment while we'll drive straight to _our_ next target. But we'll have to deal with those undertakers before we leave. Now, if you have any ideas, speak at once. I'm done."

He was tired of talking and talking and talking. This was a time for action, not for words. And he had a plate to finish.

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**A/N:** Done for today, hope you enjoyed. Hope there's not too many bloopers in this one. Feel free to give reviews, remarks, to share the link with some friends, or talk about Italian food because it's awesome. Next chapter when it's done, I'll see you soon. :)


	4. Unconstant Gardener

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R owns Harry Potter, I don't. Hope you'll enjoy the reading.

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Leonard opened his eyes, immediately checking his watch. Two in the morning. He had almost fallen asleep. He touched his face, as delicately as he could. Little less swollen than before. Fair enough. He would offer a slightly less grotesque display during his upcoming report. He could have showed up in Granger's office the moment he had returned, but even the Minister had to sleep. Either she was home, or in her Private Quarters. He didn't want to know. Besides, he needed time to prepare. He'd wait until six. She'd probably already know by then that there had been trouble.

Oh yes, troubles indeed. He tried to stretch. And grimaced. His back. It hurt. A lot. And this plastic chair did nothing to arrange that. He'd have to find himself another one soon. The actual one didn't fit. He needed a wooden one. Wood was a treat.

His face started to hurt again. He sighed, and opened a drawer. There was a little blue vial he had borrowed from Malfoy. He grabbed it, and headed for the nearest restroom. They had mirrors.

As he walked in the silent corridors, he started to speculate about what his life would have been like had he chosen to become a famous Quidditch player. Too bad he was terrible at Quidditch. Hadn't even made the selections back in Hogwarts. As he entered the restroom, he thought that, given a proper training, he would have made a fine Keeper. Alas, he lacked reflexes. And he had the wrong broomstick. A Bluebottle. Family use. He sighed.

He'd quit. One day. When it'd be over. He'd write a beautiful resignation letter. Adequate quill and parchment, nice plain and sober black ink. He'd spend some time practicing his signature; he would not botch it up. And then, he told himself while applying some Deflating Draught on his bloated cheek, he would step in Minister Granger's office, place his letter on her desk, and then simply walk away. Then he'd become a gardener.

He remembered the house he'd lived in as a kid. Quite a modest house. One room for the son only; his mother slept in a living room on a convertible couch. A bathroom, a kitchen. And a garden. A very small garden, but he loved it. They had rhubarb and tiny strawberries. He had always wanted to make jam out of them. But, unfortunately, cats. Mauling and pissing on every inch of the garden, all day long. And again. It was not secure to make jam, according to his mother.

He sighed. The Deflating Draught was starting to have some effect. He was looking human again. It still hurt a bit. But things were getting better.

"Drive, you fraking Flobber, drive!"

That was the moment Leonard had started to lose his composure. Draco was a good driver though. Like he was on a kind of broomstick. Firebolt, coupé edition. Racing through the cars, cutting through traffic like a hot knife through butter. And yet, Lenny was not serene. The escape had been a problem. Malfoy's idea had been clever enough though. Mixing a potion the Minister's assistant didn't have to time to identify with wine, before brutally smashing it on the ground. Efficient. A bit too much. Every single client rendered unconscious within seconds.

Except a couple of guys from the Weasel squad. Two of them, quick enough to cover their noses and mouths before the glass-smashing process. One of them, quite burly. Ensuing fight. Dirty tactics needed. Mandatory damage. End of the line: tables down, Weasel-trained undertakers down. And a disintegrated window. Direct cause: collision with the burly man. Allied casualties: Slytherin nosebleed. And a badger bruised eyebrow. The restaurant: nearly completely demolished.

He sighed. He didn't know how he was going to explain that to the Minister. Critical discretion failure. And the job hadn't even really begun. They still had at least nine other people to search. And the presence of Percy's men, so soon. That was preoccupying. He had improvised, telling Malfoy they were here for him; it seemed logical at that time. But maybe that was still a part of P-Weasel's _feud_ with the Ministry. That was still to be determined.

He got out. On his way back to his office, he met a man called Dennis Creevey. Night shift security man.

"Morning", Leonard said. No answer from Dennis.

Granger arrived at half past five, as she did almost every other day. This time, she took coffee. Black and bitter, no sugar. Half an hour later, Leonard was here for his report. He told her about Malfoy, about the restaurant, about Percy's men. She had to repress a smile when he told her about their little runaway. Even if he had been sorted in Hufflepuff, the man's attempts to influence her perception of things were quite subtle, although inefficient. She _knew_ what had happened. She still had eyes in the city. She decided to let him understand that.

"What happened to your face?" she asked, taking another sip of coffee.

Leonard looked at her for a few seconds, without saying anything. He thought the Deflating Draught had been efficient. Not enough, apparently. Her gaze was locked to his. Unflinching. _The Minister was waiting._

He decided that it'd be better for him to tell her the truth.

"Well, Mr Malfoy ..."

The truth. Mostly. Veracity, with a few details put aside.

"Mr Malfoy tried to renegotiate his position. He had arguments."

The demand was for him to see his wife and son again. To make sure they were safe. And yes, he had arguments. Plenty. The sole fact of him being in control of the car was one. Could crash it whenever he desired. Or turn back and drive straight to those Muggles in uniform they would soon have to run away from due to his unneeded post-action reckless driving.

And then, Swelling Solution. On Lenny's face. That would not cure the bruised eyebrow.

"The discussion got... tense, Madam."

"You know this cannot happen again", she said, impassive.

"Yes, Madam."

"Good. I trust you will respect your Swelling-induced agreement and let them meet soon."

"I will. Immediately."

"Good man. Astoria and Scorpius are now in their own private quarters, next to mine. Bring them to Draco at seven. Now, I've got a restaurant cleaning job to do. Thank you."

Leonard stayed silent. Guess all he had to do now was to dismiss. This had been quite a catastrophic start. He turned around, heading for the exit. He needed to be honest with himself: the conversation could not have been worse. He'd take the wife and kid to Draco. As soon as he'd have recovered. One of the few details he had put aside. His knuckles still hurt a bit.

"By the way", Granger said as he was leaving. "I had a talk with Astoria. She's joining the Unit."

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**A/N:** Voilà, hope you've enjoyed the reading. Next chapter when it's done. Don't hesitate to give me reviews/remarks, whether they are positive or not. I'll see you soon. :)


	5. I Like Trains

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R. owns Harry Potter, I don't. Hope you'll enjoy the reading.

* * *

_Time has passed._

"Bear with me for a sec, Astoria. There's a thing I never really understood."

"Yes?"

"The Falklands."

Leonard and Astoria, having an almost casual conversation in a train taking them to France. Pretending to read magazines, and, sometimes, talking. Chatting. They were alone, in an empty and silent compartment that sounded and looked like the inside of a coffin. Lenny had been quite surprised to find that he had several things in common with Madame Malfoy. The love of music. Speaking French. And another thing, another vital thing: Muggles. The Greengrass girl knew about Muggles, and she knew a lot. She knew about their history, politics, economics. While being a Pureblood all along. She did not like them, but she knew about them. Out of genuine intellect. He admired that.

"My father. He was a Muggle. He fought in the Falklands War. Took him quite a while to tell me about all those artillery and missile strikes they had to endure back there. And then you have this whole scandal about the missiles again. The French giving the English the codes to the missiles they sold to the Argentinians."

"I know about this, yes."

"Don't you think that this whole business looks like some-"

He paused. He needed to think. The big problem was that he lacked vocabulary, despite his experience, despite years and years spent on the Ministry's service, and a wizardry scholarship considered as much more than adequate. He lacked vocabulary. Did not have the words. Another way to be powerless.

And then, a spark.

"Astoria, they're doing magic without magic," he said after taking a short breath.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean look at what they have, at what they already had, more than thirty years ago. Just look. Without any spell, without any potion, any filter, any special secret arcane technique, they're able to control devices that we'd have trouble creating. And now, look at what they're able to do now. Just … look. This train. How fast it goes. How silent it is."

"Does it scare you?" she asked, with the shadow of a smile on her lips.

"I'll tell you what, yes, it scares me. A lot. Greengrass, I feel like we're out of order. Out of place. I mean, think about what they have now, and compare that to what we are not able to do anymore. Think about..."

He paused again, just for a second. And chuckled. So it was true. Astoria Malfoy (_Number 2_) had the gift of making people talk. She was no Veela, nor did she need any kind of spell or philter. She had this presence, this aura. She was just that good. No wonder Draco Malfoy (_Number 1_) had fallen for her.

"Think about all we had to do, I mean, the troubles we've been through, just to obtain this compartment. This silent, empty, compartment. They outsmart us. They can do things that are not in our reach. Yeah, this scares me."

He took a Chocolate Frog out of his pocket, stuffed it in his mouth, and took a long breath. And allowed himself to be noisy while gulping the food. His voice had stayed quite even, but now was the right time to stop talking. Didn't need to show her how nervous he was. No one needed to witness that.

He was in charge, after all.

"You're wondering why we're still here", Astoria said with a soft voice. He sighed. If by "we" she meant "wizards", then she was spot on. Now, that was a touchy subject for Leonard. It was obvious the man had many flaws, one of them being not liking the fact that people, one day, would not need him anymore. That he'd be useless. That was one of the reasons why he liked to think about resigning. About how a whole little world would collapse as soon as he'd be gone. About how people would ask for his help in some kind of desperate situation, praising his loyalty, professionalism, and efficiency.

The problem was that the desperate situation had occurred without anyone asking for his opinion. Granger asking for his help was quite a big thing. He had agreed to do something as important, as significant as resurrecting the Auror Unit. Out of loyalty. He had not been as efficient as intended. They were late. Christmas was closing in, and they still had two people left to catch. And his professionalism could also be put into question. He was supposed to lead the project. Not to complain to Mrs Malfoy.

"We're here for a very precise reason," Astoria said. "We both speak French. It is as simple as that. And this is the reason we are in this very train. And this is the reason why Zabini (_Number 3_) and your Hufflepuff friend- what's his name already?"

"Zacharias (_Number 4_)", Lenny answered.

"Zacharias. This is the reason Zacharias and Zabini have to deal with a massive headache right now. To allow us to cross the Channel."

"To catch 9 and 10."

"Delacour and Lupin."

She stopped. And smiled. They did not have to wonder about their place in the universe. Not the time, not the place. The only thing they had to think about was their work. Their task. And then, when that would be finally done, something even harder would come up.

Ted Lupin. A troublesome one. And the word was weak. The whole team, from 1 to 8, had spent three to four days on his case. Without managing to get a hold of the runner. The man was keen on switching faces over and over and over again. Melting in the crowd, switch. Entering a car, switch. Avoiding both the Ministry's and the Weasel's watch, switch. Quietly boarding a train while both Cohorts rip each other's throats -as discreetly as possible- in the middle of St Pancras (oh, the importance of stealth), switch. Leonard smiled. This unfortunate event would do nothing to improve the two Z's "headache". But then again, they had made some progress. They were not too far behind Lupin. They could still grab him. Not an easy job, but possible nevertheless. Actually, maybe Delacour could even help them. They would not lose too much time.

Considering Fleur Delacour would say yes. They'd have to be diplomatic. Granger had insisted on this point. She had Beauxbatons. The place wasn't down yet. Pupils still came there to study a couple of magical arts, none of them involving wands. Some lucky few could have studied in Hogwarts.

"Astoria."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For listening."

She smiled.

"_Mais de rien, mon ami._"

He smiled back. Almost no accent. They would blend perfectly. He took another Chocolate Frog. Needed to think for a second. They'd have to go to Delacour first. They knew where to find her. Then, something harder. Find Lupin.

And then, something harder. The main goal. Once the Unit would be complete, they would move to track and find the man responsible for the crippling of a whole population. Of a whole world, actually. They had chosen not to discuss whether they would eliminate -or not- the target afterwards. This decision belonged to the Minister, who had a Ministry to rebuild.

* * *

**A/N**: Done for today, next chapter when it's done. Took long to publish it, been a while without Internet. Hope you've enjoyed, don't hesitate to drop some reviews. I'll see you soon :).


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